


Chopsticks

by jackiesjunkie, visionofblue (merelyafigment)



Series: Crack!fic oneshots [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Frank Iero Is A Little Shit, M/M, band managers have their limits, crack!fic, finally finishing a wip, sorry brian, wip for 11 years, worlds longest blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22999264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackiesjunkie/pseuds/jackiesjunkie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/visionofblue
Summary: The boys go out for Chinese food. Frank... is Frank. Brian loses his temper.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Brian Schechter
Series: Crack!fic oneshots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505159





	Chopsticks

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written with VisionOfBlue from Livejournal/Twitter back in 2009. We may have left Brian & Frank in an awkward position for the last 11 years. Wahoo for finally finishing something!

They were using their merch profits to consume their body weight in noodles and fried rice at some local Chinese place. Well,Bob, Gerard, Mikey, and Brian were, anyway. Frank was vibrating in place, talking over everyone, and sneering at whatever anyone else said when he wasn't doing that.

He was also fidgeting with everything that wasn't nailed down to the table..

That's probably how Brian ended up covered in soy sauce.

Frank may have been thumping packets with his fists and making the appropriate accompanying explosion noises.

"This isn't going to end well," Bob observed before expertly slurping something off of his chopsticks.

Then Frank was much more still. Except for the yelping.

"Dude! You stabbed me with a chopstick! What the fuck?!?" Frank's giggles were very indignant, at least.

Brian looked utterly calm, carefully patting the soy sauce off of himself with paper napkins. "Did I?"

Mikey was apparently incapable of looking up from his phone, but he did pause in his texting. "Did Brian just kill Frank?"

"Nope. He's still alive. He only sustained minor injuries."

"I'm bleeding!" He sounded offended, but he was also shoving his hand in Brian's face to show off the blood like a four-year-old, so he was probably okay.

"You're fine," Mikey murmured, not that he'd looked at Frank or anything. "Maybe it wasn't Brian. Maybe it was ninjas." Then he was back to texting.

"Maybe," Brian said solemnly.

Frank was rolling his eyes dramatically and cradling his hand against his chest like he was going to lose it or something.

Gerard smiled in what he hoped was a pacifying manner at Brian, while trying to surreptitiously move all the chopsticks and other stabbing objects out of Brian's reach.

"It was not ninjas! Our manager is trying to kill me!"

Brian, for his part, was still sitting calmly and innocently, and being nice enough to not point out how much Gee sucked at being surreptitious.

Bob was no help. "I don't know, Frank. I think I saw a smoke bomb right before it happened."

"I'm BLEEDING!" Frank shoved his injured hand under Bob's nose. "Fix it, Bobert."

Bob jerked his head back from Frank's fist. "If you bleed on my food, Frank..."

Frank leered at Brian, his eyes darting between Brian's plate and his face.

"No, Frank." Bob's tone was somewhere between annoyed and vaguely pissed off.

Gerard leaned over and poked at Frank's hand. "I think you might need stitches."

"I told you this wasn't going to end well," Bob muttered

Brian sighed and shook his head. He pulled some cash out of his wallet and shoved it in Bob's direction. "You're in charge. Make sure those two eat. Get them back to the hotel in one piece, please. Frank, let's go."

"But I'm not finished eating!" Frank whined.

"We're going to the hospital, you can eat later." Brian grabbed his jacket and herded Frank toward the door. "I will buy you ICE CREAM later now get in the car."

For the entire drive to the hospital, Frank alternately griped about being stabbed with a chopstick and giggling while poking at his wound. Brian wrapped his fingers a little tighter around the steering wheel. It really wouldn't do to have to explain more injuries to the rest of the band. Fortunately, the wait in the emergency room wasn't long.

Brian made good on his promise and stopped at the first all night grocery store they passed to buy Frank some ice cream. "I'm sorry," he said after they were back in the car.

Frank shrugged. "Whatever." He was too busy slurping drippy ice cream out of the bottom of the cone. Catching Brian watching him, he turned his head to stare back. "What?"

"You're... uh, dripping."

With a devious smirk, Frank offered his ice cream cone to Brian. "Want some?"

Brian shook his head. "No thanks." He glanced down at Frank's pants with a sigh. Frank was worse than a toddler some days. Ok, most days. Not only had he managed to get melting ice cream all over his hand, but it had dripped onto his jeans and the seat. I give up.

"Oops." Frank held his sticky, ice creamy hand in front of Brian's face. "Help."

Brian was sorely tempted to just bite the hand in front of his face. God knows Frank would do it. Instead, he licked a long, slow stripe up Frank's palm... and was rewarded by Frank dropping the rest of his ice cream into Brian's lap. "Shit! Frank!" The hotel was in sight so Brian stopped in the first available parking spot he found and dragged Frank up to his hotel room. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you did that on purpose."

Frank sat pouting on the edge of the bed. "You started it."

Brian stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, guilt tickling his conscience again. Wiping the water from his hands, he went to stand in front of Frank. "I'm sorry I lost my temper. I swear I'll never stab you with a chopstick again."

Frank stood up and twisted his fingers in the front of Brian's shirt. "Shut up. I forgave you earlier."

Brian tried to ignore Frank's sticky tattooed fingers. Either he'd want to fucking stab Frank again for ruining his shirt along with his pants or...do something that would probably get him in more trouble than stabbing Frank. (Everyone who knew Frank understood the occasional desire to stab him, after all. Okay, they probably understood the occasional desire to kiss him to shut him up, too. Especially after watching him on stage all week.)

He tried his most serious face on Frank, staring him down.

Frank scrunched up his nose and squinted his eyes in what was probably a mockery of Brian's serious face, before his expression shifted back to levity, like mercury, and he returned to standing way too close and breathing on Brian's face.

"Besides, we sort of broke your ribs once. We may be even now." Frank hummed in contemplation. His fingers were twitching, causing tiny tugs on Brian's shirt. Dimly, Brian wondered if the movement was unconscious fidgeting.

"First of all -- they weren't broken." Brian ignored the pull on the thin fabric and stayed stern. It was the only thing he could do to combat... Frank. "Secondly -- it concerns me that you always sound so damn happy when you bring that up."

Frank grinned dementedly, and Brian was pretty sure the move pulled their faces closer together.

He blamed Frank.

Tug tug tug. Brian could smell ice cream, and feel a light sticky touch on his neck.

"Seriously." Frank sighed a gigantic put-upon sigh which gusted across Brian's mouth.

Must.  
Stay.  
Annoyed.

(But not annoyed enough for unfortunate stabbings to occur. Fuck. He felt like crap, not that he would show it. He had stabbed Frank. And yet, he was pretty sure Frank was over it and flirting with him now. Brian would never fully understand anyone in this band, no matter how much he loved the idiots.)

Then Frank was wearing his serious face, his arms wrapping around Brian's neck, resting on Brian's shoulders so Frank could lean in. Frank's serious face could never be taken seriously. It was the fault of the mischievous eyebrows; they always gave him away.

"You're not supposed to be more oblivious than Gee, dude. How can you manage us when you're this clueless?" Big blinking eyes, clearly trying very hard to not crack up.

"The only reason I am not hitting for the strange random insults is because I feel bad about stabbing you, you know." Brian spoke calmly, trying to disentangle himself with words, because his body didn't seem to be co-operating.

Frank rolled his eyes, Brian thought. He was distracted by the light scrape of short nails over the back of his neck. "If you're not going to hit me again, you should shut up and kiss me. Idiot."

Brian sort of felt like that should be his line. At least the 'shut up' and 'idiot' parts, because he was very careful to avoid putting Frank and kissing too close together in his mind, let alone say anything out loud. He was supposed to be the responsible one. Or something.

His stern face was clearly not slowing Frank down at all anymore, unfortunately.

He could feel Frank cross his wrists behind his neck, locking Brian in place.

"Do not bleed on my shirt." Brian tried to fight for one moment longer. It was his way.

Frank just huffed more laughter over his skin, and firmly slapped an open hand down on Brian's back. "I bleed on you -- you're mine."

Brian blinked. (And did not think about the worsening state of his shirt.) "Do you ever make sense?" He sighed. He held out for five more seconds.

Ten more seconds.

It had been years, really. That Brian had been sensible, and careful, holding back when it came to everything other than the music and the band. The music and what they were together came first. That was what was important. Not wanting Frank. Just Frank, not his guitar or his smirk for the camera or his spit for the fans. (Although, that was all part of Frank.)

"I totally make sense! I'm marking you or some shit! With my blooood. Which you spilled, by the way. Feel bad for me." Frank pouted.

"Are you trying to get me to kiss you out of guilt?" Brian questioned, and held out that much longer.

59 seconds.

"I was going for a pity fuck, but that would work too!"

Frank's bottom lip was tucked between his teeth, as his bravado finally started to slip. Brian saw it on his face, felt the twitch of it in his hands on Brian's shirt, his arms growing tense around Brian's neck. Doubt and embarrassment starting to creep up on Frank and cut out his courage and… oh, fuck this.

2 minutes and fucking years and Brian gave up and broke.

"Mmrph!" was the sound of Frank shutting up.

Teeth scraped over Brian's lips and hands clenched in his shirt, and Frank leaned his whole wiry and restless frame into Brian instantly.

Brian was pretty sure Frank was still talking into his mouth, laughing across the corner and biting down on something taunting and triumphant at Brian's jawline.

But he really wasn't paying attention. He wrapped a hand around Frank's neck, settling him into one place and focusing his mouth before Frank started bouncing and meandering and ended up giving Brian a fucking hickey on his throat or something.

Frank didn't object.

But he may still have been laughing, into Brian's mouth, vibrations under his tongue.

Brian made it his goal to turn that laughter into something helpless and lost and not at all fucking funny. His hands found their way to Frank's hips. It was more a way to anchor himself rather than hold Frank still. Frank's laughter turned to groans when Brian pulled Frank's hips closer to his own, fingers digging in greedily. Brian's teeth nipped at Frank's lips, his jaw, his throat.

Frank whined a little when he felt Brian's tongue slide over the scorpion; that spot hit some trigger that registered in his balls almost instantaneously. His dick was screaming for attention. Judging by the way Brian's cock was straining against the confines of his pants, his balls were getting the same message. Frank's tacky fingers stuck in Brian's hair, eliciting a wince when he pulled his hand away.

"Ow. Fucking ice cream." Brian grabbed at Frank's wrist before he could pull out any more of his hair. He closed his mouth over two of Frank's fingers, savoring the taste of skin and vanilla and Frank. His teeth scraped over ink, his tongue cleaning away the remnants of the frozen treat. He let Frank's fingers slip from between his lips. Brian's brain had pretty much quit functioning from the lack of blood flow but one thing was painfully clear. He wanted more. His fingers fumbled at Frank's belt as he dropped to his knees. What little higher reasoning he had disappeared when he got Frank's pants open. Frank hadn't bothered with underwear.

"Yeah, c'mon. Please."

Brian lightly traced the lines of AND. He breathed in the scent of Frank and glanced up at him from under his eyelashes. "This isn't a pity fuck." One hand wrapped around the base of Frank's dick. The other rested easily on Frank's hip, caressing the edge of his swallow tattoo. His tongue swirled around the head of Frank's cock before he let his throat take as much of Frank's length as he could manage.

Frank's fingers drifted lightly over Brian's face, guitar calluses meeting two days worth of stubble. His laughter had disappeared about the same time as when Brian's hand had moved around to cup Frank's asscheek, fingers digging in almost hard enough to leave bruises. “Fuck, Brian.” Frank’s joking slipped away as Brian did that THING with his tongue. 

Brian dug his fingers into the muscles of Frank’s thighs & ass. His other hand caressed Frank’s length where his mouth couldn’t reach. At this point it was harder to say who was more lost in the sensation. All Brian could focus on was the taste and weight of Frank on his tongue, pushing toward the back of his throat. Shifting his hand, he started to fondle Frank’s balls, rolling their weight in his fingers. 

Frank tried to get a grip on Brian’s hair, though it was almost impossible with how short it was. So he settled to digging his fingers into his scalp as he fucked into Brian’s mouth. “Fuck, if this is what it takes to get a blowjob, you can stab me with chopsticks any time you want.”

Brian paused long enough to glance up at Frank and roll his eyes. You idiot was plainly written in his look. Brian hummed around Frank’s dick and moved to stroke against his perineum. Just the right amount of pressure to get at the prostate the easy way.

Frank shuddered. “Brat,” he sighed. His nails were starting to dig in as his control was slipping. “God damn, fuck, BRIAN!” 

Brian relaxed his throat and swallowed as Frank let his load spurt out in time with the hitch of his hips. When Frank had stilled, he dragged him down into his lap. “Fuck I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you.” 

Frank nuzzled into the side of Brian’s neck, “Fucking asshole.”

“Yes you are.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Shut up, Frank.”


End file.
